


Unremarkable

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 11:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14135466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Post season 11 baby fic.





	Unremarkable

His daughter is nestled in his arms smelling of milk and her mother. She snuffles, frowns, opens her eyes then closes them. Scully is napping, head turned away so he sees the length of her neck, blanket over her lap, a wet patch at her breast.

He takes Esther to the window, watching the snow fall. There is a wise silence outside. He kisses the silken down of her hair and she gurgles in her sleep. Everything is slow. He’s glad. It makes it easier to think. He’s spent too long looking to the stars for answers, too long chasing down monsters, too long trying to prove conspiracies when all the truths in life lie in the crook of his elbow.

“What am I if not a father?” He asked Scully not so long ago. In that moment of white-hot despair, his entire existence shattered, he had nothing left. Samantha, his parents, his job, his son. Erased. But then there was hope. And life.

Esther screamed at the light. She shook as she wailed, fists bunched against existence, Mulder secretly pleased she was born ready to fight.

“Your brother says hi,” Scully whispered as the nurse placed their daughter against her breast. Esther quieted in an instant. She knew William was still alive. They both did. And it was okay. He was out there, not the truth. He was going to be okay.

When Scully wakes, Esther is hungry and Mulder busies himself in the kitchen making tea and sandwiches. It’s the smallest of things now that make him happy. For a man who once thought he had to take on the world and beyond, he now spends hours planting seeds, painting palings, stirring soup and reading Goodnight Moon. Life can now be found in silent snowfalls, in broken sleep, in midnight grocery runs, in Ikea, in Scully’s comfortable arms and in the rocking chair in Esther’s room listening to the sounds of her breathing.

“How long was I out?” Scully asks.

“Does it matter?”

Esther’s mouth slips from her nipple and the infant drums her chest and starts a frantic crying. “She’s a greedy thing. So demanding. There,” she says, helping her find her prize. “There you go.”

“She’s everything.” And he means it so much more than he can ever express. 

“After all we’ve seen, Mulder, don’t you think it’s kind of ironic that our ending is this? So mundane? So unremarkable.”

He bends to kiss her first, then their baby. “Nothing about this is mundane or unremarkable, Scully. This ending is perfect.”


End file.
